


Honesty

by illusemywords



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, death mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 12:39:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14105559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illusemywords/pseuds/illusemywords
Summary: An exploration of a few different times in Stiles' life.





	Honesty

**Author's Note:**

> Hey demons, it's me, ya boi  
> Guess who finally crawled out of her troll cave to post something for the first time in almost a year.  
> This is some angsty introspective bullshit so, enjoy.

Stiles is eight, and he can’t breathe.

“There’s something wrong with me,” he gasps. “It _hurts._ ” There are tears in his eyes. He doesn’t know what’s happening, and from the stricken look on his teacher’s face she doesn’t either.

She tries to tell him to calm down, to breathe, but he can’t. _He can’t._

Panic attack, the doctor says later, speaking softly to his father. Completely understandable, considering the circumstances. Stiles makes out words like shock, and grief, and anxiety, and he doesn’t know what any of it means.

All he knows is that he doesn’t want to experience it ever again. And that he misses his mom.

***

Stiles is eleven, and he wakes up at night to the sound of glass breaking.

He gets out of bed and silently makes his way down the stairs. He finds his dad in a chair in the living room, passed out and snoring loudly. His empty glass lies broken on the floor.

Stiles carefully cleans up the glass, making sure he doesn’t cut himself. When he’s done, he grabs a blanket from the couch and spreads it over his dad’s sleeping form, before going back to his room.

***

“Do you ever worry that you won’t wake up in the morning?”

Stiles is eleven, and his father is standing in his doorway, one hand on the light switch and the other on the door. Stiles can see his face twisting slightly at the question. “No,” he replies finally. “No, I don’t, son.”

He turns off the light and closes the door, and Stiles is encased in darkness, staring up at the ceiling. His stomach contracts painfully as he thinks of all the ways someone could die in their sleep.

They don’t talk about it, but the drunken nights falling asleep in the living room become less frequent.

***

Stiles is fourteen, and it’s been six years since his mom died. He and his dad bring a big bouquet of flowers to her grave, and Stiles knows it will almost certainly be stolen as soon as they leave.

“It’s the thought that counts,” his dad says, and Stiles nods.

It’s not as if she’ll know anyway. Whatever is buried under that gravestone isn’t his mom. Claudia Stilinski, beloved wife and mom, gone too soon, was just that – gone.

Putting flowers down was just a way to make the people left behind feel better, as if the flowers weren’t dying too as soon as they were cut to be put in the bouquet.

Maybe the flowers being stolen was better. At least then someone might get some enjoyment out of them. He knows his mom won’t.

***

Stiles is sixteen, and his life has been turned upside down. One day he’s a pretty normal teenager, and the next he’s… He doesn’t even know how to describe it.

Everything is different now, his entire world view. Things he couldn’t dream of have been proven as cold hard truth.

He thought he could handle all of it, but it’s overwhelming. His hands shake, and his smiles are stiff, and his insistences that he’s fine sound less truthful every time.

He worries. He worries about his best friend and whether the two of them will survive the week. He worries about whether his dad will be able to take care of himself if something happens to Stiles. He worries that he’ll disappear, and that his dad will never know why.

He used to worry about whether Lydia Martin noticed him. Now he worries about whether she’ll die horrifically at the hands of a monster.

He worries that he won’t wake up in the morning.

***

Stiles is sixteen, and he’s seen more people die than he ever could have imagined he would in his life.

He wakes up gasping his father’s name, worried that he will be next. His dad, Scott, Melissa, Derek, Lydia, Isaac, Allison. Any one of them could be next. He stares up at the ceiling and tries to control his breathing.

His mind moves a million miles a minute, jumping from horrible fantasy to horrible fantasy. He’s never felt less in control of his life than he does now.

***

Stiles is seventeen, and he’s dying. He can feel it, and he knows everyone else can too. He sees it in the way they look at him. It’s like he’s already gone. Like the Nogitsune has completely taken over. As if he doesn’t even exist anymore.

“Don’t bury me yet, guys,” he says, and the silence following it is deafening. He feels himself being swallowed up by the darkness of all of it. His friends are giving up on him, and he can’t even blame them.

He’s a lost cause. His breath is quick, and it reminds him of that first time when he was eight years old and didn’t know what was happening as he struggled to breathe through his first panic attack.

He doesn’t know what is happening now either, but this time he doesn’t think there’s a doctor who can give him the answer. He doesn’t think his father will be there to hug him and tell him it’ll all be okay.

He’s pretty sure it won’t all be okay this time.

He feels himself slip away but can’t do anything about it.  

When he comes back to himself he doesn’t know where he is, but he knows hours have passed when he’s had no control of his body. He wants to throw up. He’s dying.

He wonders if it’ll hurt, if it’ll be drawn out and painful. Or if it’ll be quick, like falling asleep. One way or the other, he’ll find out. It’s only a matter of time.

***

Stiles is seventeen, and he’s still alive. Against all odds, he’s still alive. He thinks that he definitely shouldn’t be.

When he’s honest with himself, he thinks that it would all be easier if he wasn’t. If he had died, others might have lived. Others, who deserved life more than Stiles did. He tries not to be honest with himself.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://illusemywords.tumblr.com/)


End file.
